The View From My Box

My box stands a little over five and a half feet off the ground. It is lovingly wrapped in brightly colored paper and tied with glittery metallic ribbons flowing majestically in the gentle canyon breezes. It is decorated with eco-friendly tinsel and shines with low-voltage lights. My box smells good too. It doesn't have the normal soap smell of waterfalls and natural springs. My little box is the essence of orange, clove, and cinnamon. There is a hint of nutmeg, and on a drafty day, one can be enveloped in the warming scent of molasses and gingerbread. My box is also durable...it never gets ripped or worn; it always looks perfect and is a shining example to all other boxes. I bet my box causes envy amongst the others of lower quality and stature, but we can't all have the best boxes. Or can we?

The view from my box is pretty cool. It is clear and far reaching, as clear as a bright summer day and as far as the stars in the heavens. Sometimes, when I am standing upon my box, whippoorwhills sing and angels rejoice. One might think my box is magical, but appearances are not always as they seem.

My daily ventures throughout the greater metropolis area of Spanish Fork cause me to notice things. I notice pretty things, praiseworthy things, glorious things, and things I comment about privately in my mind. Now that I have securely fastened my size nines to my pretty little box, I think I will let these comments escape the confines of my brain. Just for fun...

1. I think some people resemble their pets. Noses, bellies, hair styles.

2. Bum-length sweaters paired with skin-tight leggings do not a dress make. I understand the attraction of being an incognito "lady of the night" while attending church services, but who are we kidding? Aside from my aversion to distatefully revealing hem lines, I fear I will never look at cottage cheese and pineapple tidbits the same way again.

3. "It's All About Me." This is a bumper sticker I saw on the back of a hummer today while weaving my way to the highway. Yes, I imagine that driving a car the size of a small torpedo would warrant delusions such as this. And if anyone disagrees with this lady driver, she will run over you with her army-tread tires. 'Cause remember, it's all about her. I, for one, will not forget that. Feel free to cut me off...

4. I have discovered that Rationalization is the new Picasso. Akin to Picasso's surrealism period of art, rationalization is swirly and unpredicable, frightening yet alluring, mysteriously ominous, portentous, and the mere appearance of it leaves a repulsive sensation on my skin. It is also not worth the price. I will never own a surrealistic Picasso nor the poor imitation of Rationalization.

5. English teachers may have to expound upon subject verb agreement and perhaps delve into the mysteries of Merriam Webster. While at the store the other day, I was reminded once again that some of our local teenagers have become confused about adjectives and how to utilize them for the intent in which they were created. Here's a quick refresher: If you are going to employ a four letter word six times in the same sentence, at least do it with an air of sophistication. However beautiful that word may ring in your ear, rules of English grammar prohibit the same word being used as a compound subject, verb, adverb, adjective, modifier, and predicate. If you aren't willing to follow the rules, at least have the decency to throw in a conjunction.

6. Speaking of rules, I really love them. I mean, I really, really, really love them. My sister told me recently that I should have been a prosecuting attorney or a politician because she has never met someone who loves America as much as I do, who loves rules as much as I do, and who thoroughly enjoys seeking out those who break the rules and punishing those rascally culprits. Yes, it is a special talent. Perhaps I am a little more like She-Ra than I care to admit. Feel free to get me a sword for Christmas. I'll get the outfit!

7. It is amazing to me how some people choose to ignore history and fail to make connections between A and B even though A and B are linked together in an impenetrable cord of flax and polyester filament. Most of us are familiar with the adage, "If you give a man a fish, he will eat for a day. If you teach a man to fish, he will eat all the days of his life." Therefore, barring any punitive consequences to myself, what happens if he refuses to fish so I give him a rotten fish instead?

8. In case you are wondering, I am not curious about the color of your underwear. I get that you are proud of your Hanes, Fruit of the Loom, Jockey, etc., but as for me, not so much. Belts are manufactured for a reason. If the reason isn't to hold up your britches, perhaps they were created as an instrument for ease of slapping. Furthermore, I don't care about the color of your upper region undergarments either. Bras are not ornamentation. They have a job to do; I trust they can do it without my supervision.

9. If you lost your "poof" from 1993, I found it. It is alive and kickin' in Spanish Fork. I think it still has a gallon of Rave hairspray in it too. I saw a beaver dragging one off for dam protection. Winter is setting in, you know.

10. Boys are now wearing girls' skinny jeans. I throw up in my mouth a little each time I see this. (Don't worry, I keep a sixty count container of Dentyne on hand.)

11. Some people are paid a lot of money for doing nothing. I wanna be one of those people.

12. Although I cannot say it to their faces, state bureaucrats really get my Portugue blood boiling. One day, I would like to look them in their beady little eyes and say, "I need not seek after the counsel of men; I first seek after the counsel of my Father and to Hades with all of you." Then they would be confounded and fall to the ground in their self-imposed stupor. A light would radiate from my being and they would be compelled to repent of their wicked ways and forever leave the great and spacious building in which they have so painstakingly set up residence. Yes, that is how it plays out in my mind. In real life, the only light that radiates from me is the glow of the flourescent lights twinkling off my heat-induced perspiration. In place of kind words of humility, I orate choice and colorful diatribes behind their backs. I also play my air trumpet. My middle finger gets stuck a lot. That's what happens when you play those tricky air trumpets.

Any questions?

I told you it was a good view. Happy Thanksgiving, friends.